Would You Rather
by gschelt
Summary: Regina and Janis have a history, that much is clear. But just what happened is unclear. Just what is still happening is even more unclear. Regina/Janis femslash, all chapters now up.
1. Chapter 1

I am fourteen and my hair is soft and silky down to my shoulders. When I twist my head I can smell the cucumber melon scent from my matching shampoo and conditioner set. When I look down I can see straight down to my toes with no problem, because I'm flat as a board. My best friend tells me not to worry, that I'm just a late bloomer, but it's easy for her to say when she's had boobs since last year.

I'm not supposed to look, but sometimes I can't help it.

She says I'm jealous. I believe that.

When we have sleepovers she braids my hair and tells me about the boys in our grade that she would want to date. I munch on popcorn and try to think of boys I would want to date when she asks me. It's hard.

"Why do I have to have crushes on boys all the time, anyway?" I ask her.

"Because then you'd have crushes on girls instead, duh," she says simply.

"Oh."

In Geometry my best friend stares at Mitch Bellevue. I sit two behind and one to the right of her, so I can't see Mitch very well. Instead, I look at Jamie Grossman, who looks a lot like Mitch. They both have brown hair that's rough and messy like piles of dead leaves, and they both talk loudly and play rough with their friends. In fact, most boys that I know are all like this. I wonder if I'm supposed to be more fascinated than I am.

A note folded up into a square lands on my desk. I look up, and I see her two ahead and one to the left, looking back at me and smiling. I unfold the note five times.

_Would you rather: Mitch B. or Ryan F.?_

I breathe a few times before I pick up my blue Bic pen.

_Would I rather what?_

She sends it back.

_God Janis, who would you rather kiss?_

I swallow, look at Ryan Fachs, and look back down at the paper. The bell rings.

On Friday night, it's twelve-thirty and we can't keep our eyes open anymore. It's quiet except for faint sounds of us breathing, only she's in her bed and I'm in my sleeping bag on the floor. My stomach growls loudly; I didn't eat anything all night, not even my usual bowl of M&Ms when she talked about Mitch Bellevue.

"You should have eaten something, dork," she says from somewhere above me.

"Yeah," I whisper. I play with the strings on my PJ pants, thinking about how all boys look and sound the same to me. I wonder if that's how she sees them too, or if I'm just weird.

"Regina?"

"Yeah?"

"Who do you like better, Mitch or Ryan?"

I can hear her smile. "I think Mitch. His arm muscles are just to _die_ for."

I pause. "I heard Ryan can make a basket from half-court."

"So?"

"Oh, I don't know." Supposedly Mitch's arm muscles make him more likeable, but I still don't understand her logic. I feel like I'm missing something.

I close my eyes and conjure up Mitch Bellevue in my imagination. He smiles and I take a step forward and kiss him. His chapped lips mash against mine while his big hands start squeezing my shoulders hard. I try to like it. Am I supposed to like it? It's like he's smothering me, am I supposed to like it?

The hand that's toying with the drawstring of my pants slowly moves down like it has a mind of its own. It creeps underneath the waistband and I slide my middle finger inside of me. I've done this before, exploring. Don't boys do this to girls, like sex? I pull it out and push it back in, exhaling. Mitch Bellevue's fingers are too big, it wouldn't feel good. I pump my finger in and out again, breathing a little faster. The Mitch in my imagination swirls away like smoke, and I'm alone.

Am I?

I don't bring her in there on purpose. She appears without asking, taking charge like the Regina in real life. For a second I feel a little funny that I'm pretending my best friend is doing this to me. What would happen if she knew? Wouldn't she think I'm a lesbian and not want to be my friend anymore?

My eyes are shut and I can feel sounds trying to escape from my lips like cold air under a door. My finger is pushing too hard and my imagination is too strong to stop it.

"Regina," I moan.

"What?" she whispers.

I don't say anything for a second, breathing heavily. "Nothing."

"Go to sleep," she whispers, and I hear her turn over on her stomach.

"Okay." I turn on to my side and stare at the suitcases under her bed.


	2. Chapter 2

I am seventeen years old and I pride myself upon being the embodiment of every mother's worst nightmare. To my own mom, sure, no one ever wants their kid to grow up like me, and I'm sure she never envisioned me turning into "The Queen of The Damned" (or whatever the hell she's calling me this week) the moment I'd hit puberty. But after all, don't most kids end up disappointing their parents in one way or another? And after all, is it really so bad that I have my teenage experimental fling with eyeliner and safety pins?

Still, other kids' moms get to get in on the action and live the "dream" too. I may as well walk around with a sign hanging around my neck that says. "BAD INFLUENCE, DO NOT FEED. KEEP DAUGHTERS AND SMALL CHILDREN AWAY." Honestly, I can't imagine any well-to-do family being overjoyed to be introduced to their daughter's new friend and getting _me_. I'm quite the eyeful. But the moms of girls I went to middle school with are the most frightened of me. They see the sign that screams "LESBIAN", and damn it if that one isn't an eye-catching little neon number that blinks like crazy and leaves a lasting impression.

Middle school was so long ago, I don't understand why Mrs. So-And-So and Mrs. Such-And-Such can't distance themselves from it like I did. God, but it was such an awful time. Looking back, I can hardly remember even knowing myself. I was a vague, generic girl with no identity and a bundle of insecurities. Basically, I was just like everyone else and had no idea what was going on. But luckily, I grew out of that.

But then there's one other tiny reason why I try never to think about middle school. Not only had I been a clone; I had been best friends with Regina George. _Me_, of all people! Who on earth would have guessed that?

It sometimes seems unreal to me, too, but those are the days when I only hate her; the days when I only look at her with disgust and wonder how the hell we could have ever been friends. The other days are different; sharp, hungry days when she's all I think about. These days have many select moods and memories; mostly hatred and betrayal, often laced with a thin thread of lust and an even thinner thread of sorrow. But they always have the same face: hers.

Her, Regina George… _God_, Regina George. Ever since she ruined my life, it's like she's become my life. She's all I can ever think about; what it would be like to break her, what it would be like to watch her cry, what it would be like to make her cry, what it would be like to sink my fingernails into her back, to run my fingers through her hair and pull, to make her sorry… So much time I spend trying to picture her face tear-streaked and remorseful; I've never seen anything close.

Cady thinks she's the one who obsesses over Regina, but she has no idea.

"Have I told you my theory that if you cut off all her hair, she looks like a British man?"

"Yes." I sound bored to tears. It's the fourth time I've heard it at _least_, but still I spend a good deal of time later picturing Regina with her hair all gone. It's fiercely gratify and tragically wrong, all at the same time.

God, but I wish I could make up my mind whether or not I want her to be beautiful.

* * *

I push open the bathroom door near the end of the day and let it swing shut behind me. It's Friday and my mind has already skipped ahead to the weekend, so I jump, startled, when I see Regina George at the sinks washing her hands. She's the only other person in here, so automatically I stiffen, on guard.

Instantly, Regina looks up and sees me. Her eyes flash maliciously, and my stomach does a backflip for a mixture of different reasons I couldn't begin to explain to myself.

"Oh, don't get so _excited_," she says silkily, "I'm on my way out."

"TGIF to you too, Regina," I growl, gritting my teeth. I start to move towards the stalls, but she looks over her shoulder and comments casually,

"You know, you should really leave poor Cady alone. She's straight, Janis, can't you take a hint?"

I stop in my tracks and shoot her pure venom with my eyes. Of course she would go there, why the hell didn't it surprise me? She always has to dig a little harder every time, has to go a bit further with every jab she throws at me. Still, that bit about Cady stings even though I don't have a thing for the redhead, and color seeps into my face as a combo of anger and a blush. As Regina turns back to her sink smugly and glances at my reflection, I want nothing more than to come up behind her, place my fingers on her neck, and… strangle her. Yes of course, throttle the dumb smiling bitch, what else? _What else? Oh, don't even get me started…_

I'm having problems coming up with an explicit comeback, and for all I know, Regina is taking my stunned silence as an indication of guilt. It's unlikely, though.

"Red isn't my color." My voice is dripping with as much disdain as I can possibly squeeze into the four words.

"Right, Janis," she smirks, slowly raising her eyes from the taps to my reflection. "It's blonde, isn't it?"

Nobody moves

_(or the girl with the combat boots gets it)._

When she kisses me, I'm too startled to stop my mouth from parting to allow her better access. She plunges her tongue down my throat, it seems, with a vengeance, and bears down on me with almost frightening intensity, but I'm in no mood to push her away. She knows it. She knew it all along.

The ferocity with which Regina kisses me makes my knees knock together. My wandering hands are rumpling her designer top, but other than that it's her tongue that's doing all the talking in this clash. I'm not complaining, though. Every touch scorches my skin like wildfire, leaving me unbearably and deliciously ablaze. God, but how's this for a fantasy flipped upside down. I'm the one who's whipped, and I'm the one with absolutely no hold on the reins. As she moans into my mouth and I pant into hers, my mind races and is unable to acquire any signal but _Don't fucking stop_.

She does, though.

With one last bite on my lower lip, Regina pulls away, gasping for air. She takes a few steps backwards, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, and my chest heaves as I stare at her incredulously.

"Wha-what just happened?" I rasp breathlessly.

She turns back to her sink. "Nothing."

"_Nothing?"_

"Nothing." She's fixing her makeup, cool as a fucking cucumber, just like, well… like nothing had happened.

"So you're just gonna-" I begin, raising my voice, then stop. I ball my fists as I try to keep cool, and start over, keeping my voice level. "So you're just gonna pretend this whole thing never happened? _Again_?"

"Oh please, Janis," Regina sighs. "You need to forget about this. I'm not a lesbian."

I gape at the demented Plastic. "Jesus Christ!" I explode, "What the hell kind of game are you playing?"

"Janis-"

"I mean, what did I do to deserve this? I never did anything to you, remember that?"

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back in exasperation. "You're being so fucking dramatic," she says quietly. "I was just screwing with you. Can't you get that, you little queer?"

"Don't you fucking call me that, Regina," I seethe, jabbing my finger at her. "You're the one who started it."

"Oh, please-"

"_You_ kissed _me_."

"You're still the lesb-"

"You don't even know that. You started it last time, and you're the one who fucking started it this time, so maybe it's _you_ who's the dyke. Quit pinning everything on me just because you're fucking curious, Regina, because-"

"Shut up!" she screeches, whirling around to face me. For a brief moment I think she's going to hit me, and even a nanosecond before that I think she's going to ram her tongue down my throat again. Regina in the throes of any sort of passion always looks the same; flushed, reckless, vivid. But she merely flares her nostrils and takes several carefully measured steps towards me.

"I don't care what you thought in eighth grade, or what you think now," she hisses, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You don't mean shit to me. I was _bored_."

I step forward and we're standing nearly nose to nose, lasers of pure hatred boring between our eyes. "Someday," I whisper, "you won't have anyone to take the fall for you. Everyone's gonna find you out and you'll lose everything. You fucking deserve it."

"No one will believe you," she says softly.

"I know." I stare her down, unblinking, for a few more seconds, then turn away. As I walk towards the door to leave, I turn back and look at Regina George, who is standing quite still and glaring at me. "You'll give _yourself_ away, Regina."


	3. Chapter 3

I am fourteen years old and my long blonde hair feathers out on my pillow as I lie awake. I toy with a strand of my hair as I stare up at the ceiling, letting out a deep breath. Everything _always_ feels right; everything I do, everything I wear, everything I say, it always seems so perfect, but right now I have a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach that I want to go away. It's a rumbling, sick-like feeling that there's something I need to do but I don't know what it is. The night is far too dark and far too quiet, and I'm afraid of what I don't understand. I think I'm afraid of the girl on the floor who is always afraid of me. Her words, lately, are more blank than usual, and something about it confuses me.

I'm scared of the way her hazel eyes shine at me like they're searching for something, and the way it makes me feel like I'm shining too.

She's not Mitch.

I told her to go to sleep but it's only so I can pretend she's not there. I gulp, close my eyes, and try to sleep but it doesn't work. Something is keeping me awake and it makes me shake because I don't know what it is. I feel like I'm dreaming.

Dreaming is the perfect explanation for it. In my dream, I crawl out of bed and crouch down by my best friend's sleeping bag.

"Janis," I breathe. I shake her lightly.

She turns towards me and looks at me. I don't think she was asleep. "What is it?"

I lean down and put my face close to hers. She trembles.

"It's okay, this is just a dream."

"Regina, we're awa-"

My lips close over hers, so softly that I can barely feel them brushing except for the smallest tickle. I know it's not a dream, I never thought that it was. It's nighttime, though, and I know that nothing is real after dark. Her cool skin touching mine is too good to be true. She's so soft and pretty, it's like she's just a shadow. She doesn't stop me; instead, she takes my hand and looks up at me with wide eyes. Her hand guides mine down between us.

"Will you…" she whispers. "Will you touch me here?"

"Yes."


End file.
